Author
Topic: XIXAX collective script (Read 3098 times)

So I wrote this using celtx for the first time and I'm not familiar with it at all, so I couldn't figure out the page count on this or how to post it in it's original format. This should do though, right? It's at least legible. Anywho, have at it folks.

INT. BEDROOM DAY

BRAD, a mid 30's White male lays in bed, wrapped up in his sheets on a hot and muggy July afternoon. A RUSTY FAN oscillates loudly and through the curtains we see children playing in the street. Outside of the window, a RED HONDA pulls into frame. The 'Screech' of the brakes jerks Brad awake and suddenly he is out of bed, frantically dressing himself as empty beer bottles 'clang' on the floor.

INT. KITCHEN DAY

The screen door swings open and SHEILA, a blonde woman in her early 30's walks in with a GROCERY BAG on her arm. She plops it on the table along with her keys. BRAD walks in buttoning his DRESS SHIRT, doing his best to feign a smile.

SHEILA I thought you had an interview.

BRAD It was postponed. I'm heading out there now.

SHEILA At 3' o clock? it'll be close to 5 when you get there.

BRAD That's the only time he could pencil me in.

SHEILA OK... I was going to make dinner, but if you're going to be out all night...

BRAD cook it anyway. I'll grab something on the road

BRAD leans over and kisses SHEILA on the forehead as she rifles through her shopping bag. She squirms

SHEILA Didn't you shave?

BRAD I'll do it in the car.

SHEILA You know, you had all day to prepare for this. If you were gonna wait until the last minute, I could've used your help earlier.

BRAD I just got caught up making some changes to my resume.

SHEILA like what?

BRAD The dates I worked for the car dealership, and…other stuff.

Sheila looks at him quizzically, not breaking eye contact for an uncomfortable amount of time.

BRAD heh, well I better get going if I wanna beat traffic.

Sheila just stares at him wordlessly as he walks out the door. Looking down at the food spread out on the table, she's suddenly lost her appetite.

CLOSE UPAn unidentifiable badge underneath some random papers in the passenger seat. It appears to have a bloody thumbprint on it.

INT. KITCHEN DAYSheila is dispensing pet food from cans into two seperate bowls and places them on the floor. She individually lets in a cat into one area of the kitchen, then releases a dog from another, trying to make a barrier with her body so the dog goes to it's food instead of the cat. She fails and there is brief growling as the cats runs away. She follows it.

SHEILAPetunia! Stop it! It's just the dog, she doesn't care about you.

INT. BEDROOM DAYSheila glances around the room then looks underneath the bed.

SHEILA...Are you kidding me...

Sheila finds a large amount of empty bottles underneath the bed, concealed clumsily with a sheet and two shirts that she pulls out angrily as bottles cascade across the floor. The cat runs by and inspects one bottle then runs quickly out of frame as Sheila clutches her face.

EXT. BRADS FRONT YARDBrad runs into frame carrying objects in his shirt like a hammock, looking over his shoulder, then slows, looking for Sheila in the window, ducking as not to be seen. He gets into the car and puts it in gear, rolling backward before he cranks it, then drives out of frame.

INT. BRADS CARBrad is breathing heavily, sweating. The camera pans to the passenger seat revealing a gun, a badge, and two cantelopes.

RED TAIL LIGHTS reflect off the wet cement from a mid-range sedan idling at the end of the alley.

Across the street, an exposed light bulb casts flickering illumination over a nondescript metal door, recessed in the brick wall.

INT. SEDAN - CONTINUOUS

Brad fidgets in the driver's seat. He glances at the clock on the dash: 9:45.

BRAD Come on, come on....

He leans forward, surveying the empty street.

Frustrated, he throws the car into gear and taps the gas. As the car lurches forward, a MAN steps from around the corner. Brad slams on the brakes, stopping just short of hitting him.

BRAD Jesus!

Brad flicks on the headlights. The man (PENG), Chinese, 20s, shields his eyes with one hand and gives Brad a middle finger with the other.

Brad takes a deep breath to calm himself. He unlocks the passenger door, and Peng climbs in the car.

PENG The fuck did I ever do to you?

BRAD I'm sorry! I... I didn't see you.

PENG Yeah, yeah. Fucking white drivers, man.

BRAD Do you have any idea what time it is?

Peng throws him a hard look.

PENG These things happen when they happen.

BRAD What do I tell my wife? I keep making up these stories, and sooner or later, she--

PENG Do I seem like I give a shit about your marriage problems?

Brad shuts up.

PENG You need therapy, you go see a therapist. You need to get inside that door....

Peng nods in the direction of the metal door. Brad stares at it, a look somewhere between fear and longing.

PENG Well, you know.

Peng holds out his hand. Brad looks at it, confused.

Annoyed, Peng clears his throat. Brad's brain kicks back in.

BRAD Shit. Of course. Sorry.

Brad leans over and awkwardly reaches past Peng to dig around in the glove compartment. After a moment, he pulls out a small package covered in brown paper. Peng grabs it from him, pulls something from his pocket, and presses it into Brad's hand.

PENG Pleasure doing business with you. Have a nice life.

Peng abruptly exits the car and disappears down the alley.

Brad sits in silence for a moment, staring at the door across the street. There are paint markings on it from where stenciled letters used to be, but they're too worn away to read anymore.

Brad looks down at his hand. It's clenched so tightly, the knuckles are bone-white. With great apparent effort, he forces his fist to relax and open, revealing what's inside:

INT. DINGY HALLWAYFULL FRAME ON METALLIC DOOR.The mellow sound of island music emanates from behind the camera. Brad enters, leaving the door slightly ajar behind him. We pan as Brad cautiously makes his way to the end of the hall. A burly, yet surprisingly kempt security guard (DIRK) is leaning against the wall beside a beaded doorway. Seeing this, Brad relaxes a little.

DIRK (cheerful) Evening Brad.

BRAD Evening.

Dirk points behind brad.

DIRK You left your car on.

Brad ignores him, heading for the next room.

DIRK Some guy came 'round the last place looking for you.

Brad stops dead in his tracks and turns back to Dirk.

DIRK (CONT'D) Yeah! I was surprised, just some kid. He asked for you by name.

BRAD Seriously? What did he look like? Was he black?

DIRK No no. It was just some kid.

BRAD And you're sure he wasn't black?

DIRK Could've been Hispanic maybe.

Brad buries his face in his hands. He looks like he hasn't showered in days, his mop of hair parting to reveal a moist lens of sweat covering his forehead.

BRAD Oh god...

DIRK You were late, so Kaden decided to start without you. If you head in now you should be able to sit the second round.

BRAD Forget that! Just tell me more about this black guy.

DIRK You're a mess.

BRAD Whatever...

Brad wipes his hands on his trousers and awkwardly fumbles around in his shirt pocket.

DIRK Here.

Dirk lights a smoke and holds it out. Ignoring this, Brad retrieves a glass vial from his pocket and dollops a mound of cocaine on his wrist.

INT. SEDANPUSH IN ON BRAD'S GUN, DROPPED ON THE FLOOR.V.O. Brad snorts loudly.

If this is terrible and somehow ruins all the fun let me know and I'll remove it (I really don't mind)

i wrote three pages! i'm sharing all of them. i took a long time for various reasons, but one of them is this was something else then it was something else then it was this. i enjoyed the process. i took so long andso i won't always say next

it's kinda like there's a tv show from each poster/director. oh i hope xixax enjoys this. here's what i have happen:

Brad stands akimbo. He concentrates for a moment while mid-distance gazing.

Brad nods.

SHEILA Wait what you were you..okay nevermind. Perfect.

Sheila pets the cat for a beat. Brad stares at his hands.

SHEILA Ok keep going. Please.

INT. BIZ OFFICE - FLASHBACK TO EARLIER SAME DAY

THREE STANDING PEOPLE IN SUITS and SEVEN INTERVIEW-DRESSED PEOPLE IN EAMES CHAIRS.

Brad, in the doorframe, with his head leaning in the room.

BRAD I quit.

Brad points at the people in suits one a time and really fast, then he waves his hand over the people in the Eames chairs, and he turns to slam the door.

SUIT PERSON So no -- no one in this room has been hired yet. Oops.

INT. BRAD/SHEILA HOUSE - CONTINUOUS WITH PREVIOUS

Brad, super bummed, chin downward, eyes on his feet, twists his hands in his lap.

BRAD "That guy has a lot of nerve."

Brad flaps his hand.

BRAD Is probably what the manager said. But they were like really upset about how late to the job meeting I was. Furious. I was terrible, so terrible to them. And I asked them--

(PUSH-IN ON CLOSEUP OF BRAD)

BRAD What if you had a customer who was coming in for a meeting with you at 3, but the customer didn't arrive until 430? Would you tell the customer they didn't follow the laws of time and responsibility and adult world andbut what I mean is would you kick the customer out and say you couldn't help them? Or would you make the room in your life to help the person? I asked that. To the receptionist. Who explained that the meeting was in the other room and I should share my feelings with the managers. Then I went intoroom and did what I told you. I'm quite positive I won't get the job at all.

Sheila's tender face, so full of concentration and care and curisoity. She rubs the back of Brad's head by tussling his hair.

(PUSH-IN ON CLOSEUP OF SHEILA)

SHEILA I got a plan. I got a damn good plan. I got us a twelve pack and a pint of vodka and I'm like 82% sure we'll feel better soon. Don't worry. I think you're marvelous. I adore you. Hey did you mention you had a gun in a cantaloupe?